


Touch

by Multifandom_damnation



Series: Brothers, Remember? [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Branding, Captivity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Gen, Non-Consensual Touching, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Past Torture, Social Issues, Touch-Starved, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 09:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15638190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multifandom_damnation/pseuds/Multifandom_damnation
Summary: Percy has never liked touch. When he was younger, maybe, but not since the Briarwoods, not since RipleyNot until Vax.





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> God I need more Percy & Vax

Percy has never liked touch. When he was younger, maybe, but not since the Briarwoods, not since Ripley.

Before Vox Machina was more “group” than “family”, Percy would recoil from touch. Would hold his breath and squeeze his eyes shut when Pike gently touched him to heal wounds dealt from battle, had thrashed and snapped at the twins when they had to force him down to pierce his earlobe and stick the earring in, had flinched when Keyleth had softly touched his lower back or brushed past his arm in comfort or concern, had jumped whenever Grog had placed his heavy hand on his shoulder, had shuddered when Scanlan would yank at his pants leg or his coattails to get his attention, had yanked himself sharply away when Tiberius would run up to him and pull sharply at his arm.

Percy knew he was being weak and stubborn and he looked useless to these ram-shackle group of adventures, the half-elves, the gnomes, the goliath and the dragonborn, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when there was fingers and arms and skin touching him that felt too much like Anna prodding and poking. Everything he was and everything he cared about had been taken from him and the least they could do was _let him have this_.

At one point he started to trust them enough to let them come closer, would let Pike spread her tiny hands across his skin to heal him or let Keyleth hold his hand, but only them and only on those conditions.

He was most often found seated at a different table from the group in taverns or inns, a distance away from them at the fireplace and while most of them shared tents and rooms, Percival would much rather pay extra for his own room or sleep alone on the ground in the cold under the stars. He would flinch when they got too close and would yank himself away whenever someone would grab him.

Soon, Vex could hold his shoulder and pull his chin up to meet her eyes and Percy was alright with it, as long as he could see her doing it and only if there was a reason.

Percy could cope with riding the flying carpet with them, mostly because he had no choice but partly because he knew there was a too-high chance that he could shove them off if they scared him, and there was nothing he wanted less than that.

In the Underdark, both the twins had kissed Percy and while he hadn’t enjoyed the proximity, he was willing to give them another go if they ever offered, as long as he had his eyes open, watching them and his gun held tightly in his hand.

And then Cassandra came, and she would the only person who could get close enough to Percy to touch him, and although he stiffened, he would allow it. Cass would hug him, hold him tight against her chest and he could imagine that it wasn't someone giving him pity or comfort, just his sister holding him like he always wanted.

Soon, the touch of another was accepted, not exactly welcomed but Percy had learnt to deal with it.

Then he got Vex killed in the tomb.

Then Vax agreed to the Raven Queens terms in order to spare Vex, and that was Percy’s fault.

Then he gave Grog Craven Edge and got him killed too.

They stopped touching him after that, except Vax and the punch in the face Percy knew he deserved and the bitter, angry glares from across the room.

After all these years of recoiling from the fear of simple touches and affection, he found himself craving it like a drowning man craves air, how a man stranded in the desert for weeks craves water. Percy never thought he would, but the avoidance was worse than the touches, much worse _so_ much worse, and now that it was gone Percy knew how much it would hurt.

They had found Tiberius’ dead, frozen body in Draconia and it was Percy who noticed and asked it to be pulled down, had suggested the burial and found the books the dragonborn loved most in the library where his body lay. He had thought, if he had put in enough effort and corrected his wrongs, just slightly, then maybe they would all treat him how they used to.

The worst was the deep, hateful glares from Vax that Percy pretended to ignore and accept but really, they were worse than anything Ripley ever did to him.

And then there was Ank’harel and Glintshore, the bullet holes found in Mistress Asharu that could only be made from one thing, Ripley and her men with their shining chrome guns pointed at the party.

Percy had died that day, covered in glass-shards and bullets and his own blood. Then he had been touched again, touched by Orthax and Ripley in his mind and it felt like a millennium. Ripley was never really there, but he could feel the touches and the poking across his body in his mind’s eye and while Orthax feasted on his soul Percy wondered if this contact was really what he thought he was missing.

Maybe the others had done him a favour, avoiding him.

But no, something must have happened because when he woke up, Vax’s fingers were unabashedly in his hair, Pike had a hand held gently on his shoulder, Keyleth was grasping the raven skull from around his neck- her skin was almost too warm on his frigid skin-, Vex sobbing on his chest, Grog and Scanlan by his feet, Grog with one hand on his leg and Scanlan practically sitting on him.

They were touching him. _Willingly_.

And Percy _hated_ it.

He had travelled with them, yes, and put up with it like he used to. But back home, back in Whitestone, he locked himself away in his workshop, in his room, his sister’s chambers and the writing room. Sometimes he could be found in the library, or the garden, but there were too many people more often than not.

But then he kissed Vex, after the fight with Vorugal, and he didn’t know why, because he knew what that meant and when Vex had found her way to his room in Scanlan’s Mansion, Percy pretended he didn’t flinch when she crawled under the covers and kissed him.

Percy was content with that, after a while. Keyleth, Cassandra, Vex and Pike. The could touch him, while unwillingly at first, Percy got used to it.

Then one day, something changed.

Vax had come up to him, mouth twisted in joy and had dived onto Percy, wrapping his arms around the human. “Percival, you grumpy git!” He had cried, seeming to ignore the way Percy stiffened and pulled away. “Why are you so gloomy? Do you even know what’s happened?”

“No, Vax,” Percy had stuttered, trying to push Vax away. “What happened? What are you doing?”

“We convinced your sister to have a snowball fight with us!” Vax was almost too giddy for his own good, holding onto Percy with newfound strength. “A snowball fight! We haven’t had one of those since Vex and I were children! Your sister wants your help, so I’ve been sent to fetch you. Come on!” He yanked Percy by the hand and dragged him back towards the castle.

Later that night, Percy has asked Vex while they laid side by side what was going on with her brother, and Vex had given him a suspiciously knowing smile and told him not to worry.

“He’s probably just being spontaneous, darling,” She reassured as she placed kisses on his collarbone. “You have nothing to fear.”

Vax’s touches kept getting friendlier and closer and frankly, it was just something Percy didn’t understand. He would rush up to Percy and grab his hand, throw his arm over Percy’s shoulder while they were seated at the table, would blatantly plant kisses on Percy’s cheek, would ruffle his fingers through Percy’s snow-white hair, would tweak at Percy’s nose or ears before he faded into the shadows from where he had come from, would dart up to Percy and hug him while talking rapidly about something or other before saying goodbye and sprinting off in the other direction.

It was a month later, and Percy was locked away in his workshop, head burrowed in papers and hands covered in ink, so focused on his work that he didn’t hear the soft _click_ of his heavy metal door closing, the soft padding footsteps trailing across the flooring, the _whoosh_ of a cloak as it drifted, the quiet scrape of a stool beside him, not until a head was heavily resting on his shoulder and Vax asked “What are you doing?”

Percy shot up, the chair skittering backwards with a painful sound as he spun to face Vax, his gun already in his hand. There was a smug smirk on the half-elf’s face as he watched Percy panting hard, eyes wide and Vax raised his hands. “Didn’t mean to startle you, Freddy, I made lots of noise coming in.”

Realising who was seated in the chair after the shock of panic faded to white noise, Percy lowered his gun to his side. “Oh,” was all he said, staring blankly at Vax.

Tilting his head in Percy’s reaction, a fleeting look of concern crossed Vax’s face before it was replaced by humour. Percy hadn’t seen that look directed at him in ages. Not since the tomb. “Come and sit back down, Percival.” The voice was gentle, guiding Percy back down into his seat like an invisible hand. “When was the last time you took a break?” Vax asked, reaching up to thread his fingers through Percy’s hair. “You look worn out, maybe you should come up and we could go for a walk in the town square or-”

Jerking away, Percy spun around to face Vax grabbing both of the rouges wrists and yanking them down so Percy could see them before he hastily let go and pushed his stool backwards on the ground. “Enough is enough, Vax,” Percy snapped, tried to ignore the confused and slightly hurt look on Vax’s face, tried to ignore the tingling in his hands or the phantom pain from where Ripley’s fingers prodded. “I’m much more observant than you give me credit for. Why are you doing this?”

Vax pulled away slightly, face going stoic, carefully empty. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” Percy glared at Vax, but it had none of the heat it should, it was more cautious than furious. “Why are you doing it? I don’t understand, I’ve done nothing to earn and I don’t think-”

“Wait,” Vax put his hand up, stopping Percy’s verbal vomit before it could dribble anywhere past his lips. “I’m just being nice to you? You don’t really think you earn people being _nice_ to you? Freddy, come on.”

Percy raised his chin in triumph. “So you admit, you are doing something.”

Like a switch being flicked, Vax changed. His arms rose to cross against his chest, his hands curled into loose fists. He leaned back against the wall, one leg crossed in front of the other, mouth flipped from a careful frown into a broad smirk, eyes narrowing and piercing into Percy’s very soul. “Why should it matter?” He replied as he met Percy’s eyes, who had to look away. There was too much warmth and affection in those eyes. “Why do you care?”

“Because you’re being nice to _me_ ,” Percy growled, backing up slightly. He reached down once again so his fingers could brush against the reassuring weight of his gun. “You don’t like me. You hate me, more than Cass does, and you’re touching me and you know I don’t like being touched. Why are you doing it? Are you trying to get under my skin? Are you trying to drive me away from your sister?”

Vax’s arms uncrossed, and a confused frown scrunched up his face, concern in his eyes now, concern Percy did not deserve. “Not everyone hates you, Percival, and especially not your sister.”

“Fine.” Percy accepted, looking at the raven-skull broach clasped to his friends cloak. Percy had made that for him, a replica of his own, for what? For someone to hate him not long after. “Not Cass. But you do, you can’t tell me you don’t.”

Stiffening, Vax’s fists clenched and unclenched. “I don’t anymore-”

“Right, so what’s changed?” Percy shouted, backing up against the wall as Vax reached a hand out to grab him. “I’m not stupid Vax, I know something has changed because you wouldn’t be doing this if it hadn’t.”

Seeming to deflate, Vax dropped his arm, eying Percy with something the human couldn’t identify. Trepidation? Suspicion? Worry? Percy didn’t know. It looked as though Vax was trying to calm a cornered, frightened animal. “You died,” Vax said quietly. Percy jerked upright. “You died, and I realised that I felt the same way as when Vex died. That I did really care, that it was our fault, the same way it was your fault. You don’t begrudge us for letting you die, do you?”

“No, of course not.” Percy was tense, not liking where this was going. “Why would I? It was purely my fault, it had nothing to do with you. You did everything you could.”

“And I also know that you didn’t mean to do it.” Vax continued, softly. “I know that you didn’t mean to kill Vex because it was technically _her_ fault. She should have healed, or waited for me, or stayed back. It had nothing to do with you. And I understand that now, and I’m trying to make up for how I’ve treated you.”

“B-but-” Gritting his teeth, Percy tried to force his body into submission, making his words come out strong, not like a child afraid of the dark. He hated being weak. “You’re _touching_ me.”

Tilting his head, Vax considered Percy with new light. “Percival,” Vax asked slowly, watching the way Percy shirked away from his own name said so softly. “Why don’t you like touch? I mean honestly.”

“I’ve never liked it,” Percy said shortly, crossing his arms defensively against his chest. “Even as a child, I-”

“Now that’s a fat load of bullshit if I’ve ever heard it.” Vax met Percy’s eyes. “We’ve talked to Cassandra. She says that since you came back, she’s started to notice it. Says that you were the opposite before the Briarwood's. What _happened?_ ”

Like a deflated balloon, Percy sunk to the ground, his back against the wall. His eyes stared blankly at the floor with its soot-and-black-powder covered surface, filled with cracks and divots and pock-marked burns from where he dropped vials of acid or moulds filled with molten metal.   It was very much his workshop, _his_ in every way. He had made his mark and placed them here for all to see almost screaming that this place was his and his alone. But now, Percy wasn’t looking at his workshop floor with burns and cracks and black covered surface, but at the floor from another castle room, the dreaded room he avoided at all costs with its pealed paint walls and painful memories and repeated questions, he avoided it just as much as he avoids his old cell in the castles custodial. The floor in this new room was covered in Percy’s own blood, dripping from the cold metal table heated from his fevered skin like a waterfall in the mountains of hell.

On the table next to him held a tray, a ceramic baking tray snatched from the kitchen before 12 of the cooks were murdered. The tray glistened in the faint glow of the candle by his head as the metal implements reflected the light, still coated in his own blood. Once _she_ was done with him, Percy would be dragged back to his dirty cell where his wounds would slowly get infected, his fever would get worse and another dead body would be thrown in beside him. It was the 4 th day if Percy’s count was right- but really, who could be sure? It felt like forever- and that meant 5 bodies. Julius was thrown in first, Whitney next, Oliver, then both his parents.

She was by his hip now, carving something into his flesh with fluid and precise movements, one hand holding the thin blade and the other gently stroking Percy’s leg with soft, slow touches that made Percy shudder with repulsion, as though she were trying to calm a rabid beast. Ignoring the strangled sounds of protest coming from the boy above her, the words getting stolen by the disgusting rag jammed into his mouth, she continued with her touches and her carvings, trailing her fingers from his legs to his chest to his arms, all with the same gentle tenderness that Percy had wished once his mother had shown him. Never again. She ignored the way he tried to shake her off and jerk himself away despite how firmly he was strapped to the table- thick ropes and leather bands and long stands of chain wrapped around both him and the table, trapping his torso while his arms and legs were shackled to the legs of the desk.

“Almost done, my dear,” Anna told him, smug as she felt the tense bunching of his muscles under her hand relax. “I have to make this perfect, you know.” She removed the blade from the section of Percy’s leg and jammed it into the meat of his thigh, delighting in the resulting muffled scream and the desperate thrashing. “Do you want to talk yet, Percival?” she twisted the blade. “I’m sure there must be _something_ you could tell me.”

Percy’s whole being was thrumming in pain, the back of his head sending white-hot bolts of lightning-quick agony into his brain from where soldiers had smashed down his bedroom door and had knocked his skull sharply against the wall the very first night, his body littered with incisions and punctures from Ripley’s blades, the skin and nails on his hands pealing apart from where he clawed and dug at his cell walls in an attempt to find an escape he knew didn’t exist. With fear gripping his heart in a sharp-taloned grip, Percy met Ripley’s eyes and as she removed the gag, he spat blood and saliva onto her face, watched it slide down her skin and _splat!_ Loudly on the floor in the middle of the room.

“Pelor curse you,” Percy panted with grit teeth and eyes full of hatred, even though he never really had any care for the gods, he felt that somewhere deep inside him, it needed to be said- for his brother and his sisters and his parents who dedicated their lives and their town to the god of light, the sun, strength Percy felt like he desperately needed, healing Percy needed even more, it was the least he could do for them. “Pelor curse you and may you rot in the deepest flames of the hells.”

Ripley wiped her face, a wicked smirk curling and twisting her features. It would be beautiful, Percy thinks, if she wasn’t a sadistic psychopath intent on sticking holes into him for information he didn’t have. “Finally,” she whispered, not angry or violent, but full of excitement and barely contained joy as she traced delicate and long-nailed fingers over Percy’s blood covered chest. “Now, we can start the _real_ fun.”

Percy felt like his body and soul were separate entities and as he listened to the deep, booming cackles of Dr Anna Ripley that seemed to reverberate off the walls, he felt his body convulse and recoil from her hands, his head hitting the back of the table and sending a sharp stab of pain but when she touched him, he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel her hands softly roaming his body. They seemed to never leave his legs, his arms, trailing across his chest and all Percy could do was writhe on the tabletop, never feeling anything but the deep revulsion that he let this happen, that he allowed her to do these things and it was also all his fault that this was happening-

“Percival!” He was being shaken, a firm-gripped hand clutching his shoulder as his head banged harshly against the wall. “Percival, can you hear me?” As Percy’s eyes focused, he saw Vax leaning over him with fear and worry written on his face, his voice urgent and somewhat frantic. “Can you walk? Do I need to call Grog to carry you upstairs? Should I get Vex? Or Keyleth? Or Cassandra?”

Gasping slightly, Percy shook his head. “No, no,” he muttered, taking his glasses off and whipping at his eyes before cleaning the lenses on his smock, smearing traces of black soot over them. His hand unconsciously trailed down to his hip, feeling the dainty swirling calligraphy of Ripley’s signature permanently printed onto his flesh for all. His fingers traced over the _“A.R.”_ as he spoke. “I’m fine. I was just… thinking about something is all.”

Vax looked like he didn’t believe a word out of Percy’s lying fucking mouth. “You drifted,” Vax explained, the shake of panic in his usually steady words that was always directed to the rest of Vox Machina. To Vex, to Keyleth, to Scanlan, to Pike, sometimes to Grog, always to Gilmore, but never to Percy. “I thought you were having a panic attack. What the hell were you thinking about?”

“Just a memory,” Percy replied, staring at the space between his feet. “Just a very vivid memory.”

Slowly, so Percy could watch his every move and so he could see there was no danger to fear from him, Vax placed a hand on Percy’s knee. To both men’s surprise, he didn’t pull away. “Freddy,” Vax near whispered, words full of compassion and understanding and undeserved concern. He paused, as though he were choosing his next words with great care and Percy felt a pang of guilt. No-one should have to wall on eggshells around him. He wasn’t weak. “Why don’t you like being touched?” The look in Vax’s face told Percy that he already knew the answer and although Percy was prepared for the question to be asked, he felt a twinge of fear shoot through his mind.

He paused. “Have you ever seen my scars, Vax?” Percy asked after a moment, much to Vax’s surprise as the half-elf sat blinked rapidly and sat back on his hunches, hand still on Percy's knee.

“Uh… no, not really?” It was framed as an unnecessary question although it was one they both knew the answer to. “Why?”

“Do you know what torture feels like?” He knew that he was drilling his friend with useless and pointless questions but Percy needed him to know, needed him to be ready for what he was about to say.

Vax winced. “I don’t see your point here Percival. It's obviously painful-”

“Oh yes, it’s terrible and painful, but the aftermath is worse.” Percy’s was aware of his breath hitching, but he didn’t care. “The fear of skin to skin, the fear of contact, the fear of people getting close. I don’t want to be this way, but people touching me just makes me think back to her and to how much fun she had watching me scream and beg and cry.”

Gulping, Vax watched Percival absentmindedly rub over his scars left by Anna Ripley. “I uh…”

“And then, it’s the reminder.” Percy continued, eyes distant. “The constant reminder permanently left in your skin for you to never forget. Every scar has a story, a date, a utensil, a quiz. Every scar is different.”

Faster than Vax could expect, Percy’s hand shot out from where it rested and brought Vax’s hand to his collarbone. “This was the first day, she used a knife and wanted to know where my family slept and how to enter the guard’s quarters. I only told her about the guards and she punished me.” He dragged Vax’s hand to his stomach. “She cut me open and stitched me back up on the third day. She said she wanted to know what my insides looked like. She asked me a question about the construction of the castle and my answer wasn’t satisfactory.” Percy’s eyes were wild as he placed Vax’s hand on his hip and let it go. Vax left it there.

“This was the last day,” Percy whispered. “She wanted me to be forever marked, to prove that I belonged to her. I touch it sometimes to remind myself how badly I failed my family.” He met Vax’s eyes. “Go on. Trace it, you know what it is.”

Slowly, tentatively, Vax rubbed his fingertip over Percy’s hip, followed the cursive swirl of the signature. His eyes widened as he traced the letters. “A… R…? A.R. Anna Ripley? She fucking _branded_ you?”

“She carved it into my skin with a scalpel,” Percy said. “I remember that day, very vividly.”

“Was that… was that what you were thinking about before?”

“It was.”

Sighing through his nose, Vax took his hands away from Percy’s hip. “Freddy, you know that’s fucked up, right?”

“I am aware.” Percy was fiddling with a button of his coat. “Most aspects of my life are fucked up, but yes, that is particularly fucked.”

“I suppose now I understand why you avoid being touched.”

“I am… trying to be better.” It was a quiet admission that Vax realised was absolutely true. “I am giving hugs to Cassandra and am holding hands with Keyleth. I am showing affection to your sister so, with that, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Vax asked quietly, sincere.

Percy paused for a moment as he contemplated, but soon he shakily reached out and took Vax’s hand in his, gently running his thumb over the back of Vax’s hand. “Maybe… remind me that you won’t harm me?” Percy muttered. “Prove that not all contact is dangerous. I am… not too sure if that will help, but that is mostly the cause of my… hesitation of touch. I don’t know if that would even help but I suppose… it is worth a shot.”

The request was so quiet, so soft, so sincere and out of the ordinary that Vax smiled and reached a hand up to ruffle Percy’s hair, gently so as not to scare him. “I think I can manage that, Freddy. It’s the least I can do.” Standing, Vax pulled Percy up the hand already in his and hefted him to his feet. “I forgot what I had come down for, my sister is looking for you. Or, was, I don’t know if she has given up her search but we wouldn’t want to make her angry, would we?”

“No,” Percy laughed, a sound Vax was still trying to get used to. “No, we wouldn’t.”


End file.
